Second Chances (2 page)

Mom had always liked Jackson, and tended to stand up for him before anyone else, despite everything he'd done. She surprised me by saying, “That is beside the point, Jillian. I agree that Blythe was in the right, but it doesn't excuse what he did. Jackie was furious when you left last night, Joelle.”

I didn't want to think about my cheating husband who was missing a tooth, courtesy of my former lover. The man I was in love with, Blythe Tilson, was this very moment being driven south and farther from me with each passing second. My hands and legs twitched with impatience, and it was all I could do not to run to my car and peel out immediately. But there were a few things I had to do first, this being number one.

“I'll settle things with Jackson, Ma, don't worry,” I said. “He'll simmer down and head home to Lanny.” To my surprise, a name that used to set my teeth on edge and my heart thudding no longer seemed to have power over me. Lanny was the woman for whom Jackson had left me; the woman he claimed to love and wished to marry. Again, the thought didn't faze me. If Jackie were here before me at the moment, I would sign his divorce papers without hesitation.

“But what will you tell the girls?” Mom continued, and I struggled not to rub my temples, feeling the light headache I'd had since last night intensifying, but Ellen saved me.

“Joan, she's in love, and she's taking this chance,” my aunt said quietly. “Do you think life offers chances like candy?”

“Like jellybeans,” Mom muttered sarcastically, but she backed off, and Ellen touched my hand briefly before gathering her cooking supplies and heading into the café.

An hour
later, fortified by a strong cup of coffee, I was able to sit down with two of my daughters at one of the booths. Tish and Ruthann, who were sleepy-eyed but snapping with curiosity, sat facing me, forearms lining the table's edge, elbows bumping. Tish, who close-cropped hair had grown out over the months here in Landon, had a row of bobby pins holding bangs out of her cobalt-blue eyes, Jillian's eyes, which had been bestowed on my middle daughter. Ruthie, whose eyes were a soft hazel flecked with gold, with her own dark hair in a braid down her back, studied me intently; both of them wore pale blue Shore Leave t-shirts, Tish's with her name written across the left pocket in permanent marker. Camille, my oldest, was still sleeping and had been exhausted of late; being four weeks pregnant did that to a person.

For a moment my conviction wavered; how could I contemplate leaving my pregnant child behind while I drove cross-country? What if her morning sickness got worse? What if she had a question about something?

“Mom, you look like crap,” Tish observed then, in her usual blunt fashion, snapping me momentarily from my worries.

“Thanks, dear,” I responded drily, lacing my fingers around my coffee cup.

It occurred to me that in the past two months, since the advent of a boyfriend into their big sister's life, Ruthann and Tish had been more often in each other's company. Camille had moved on for the time being, swum ahead into life, and they were a little bereft in her wake. Ruthie, even with her scattering of freckles, suddenly looked more like an almost-teenager than my baby. When had that happened? Both Camille and Tish were olive-skinned, like their father, but Ruthie had my coloring all the way, save for the dark, luxurious curly hair that Jackson had kindly passed to his children. My own was straight and light, hanging now over my back in reams of snarls. I supposed my make-up was under my eyes and probably I should have brushed my teeth at some point. Ruthie, also my sweetest child, amended, “No, you just look tired, Mom.”

“Well, I am a little tired,” I said, and then tipped my chin slightly to study them with serious eyes. “Girls, you know what I told you last night, about Blythe?”

They both nodded, eyes equally solemn. I'd told them last night about falling in love, and my heart pounded harder.

“Well Rich left last night for Oklahoma, where Bly is from. You guys remember? Blythe has to face some charges there, and I am going to drive down there and see if I can help.”
And bring him home with me, ideally to stay forever
. His name tasted sweet in my mouth, and I pressed my lips together as though to keep it there for a moment longer. I was relatively proud of holding it together so well, when everything inside of me was shrieking, aching to run to the car and go, to find Blythe and get my arms around him.
Joelle, Joelle
.

“You're leaving?” Tish gaped at me. “For how long?”

“Just a week or so,” I reassured instantly, reaching to grip her hand. For once she allowed it, curling her slim fingers with their short, unpolished nails around my own, as she had when she was a little girl. “I won't stay long. And I'll call you guys every night.”

“But why can't you just call
him
?” Tish continued. “Why do you have to go there?”

“I want to see him,” I explained quietly. “I have to see if we are meant to be.”

“Like, meant to be married?” Tish asked, drawing her hand from mine and then gripping the edge of the table with both hands. Ruthie bit her bottom lip, not speaking, but the question was clear in her eyes. When I didn't instantly respond, Tish slapped the table with the bottom of her palms, a gesture of pure frustration.

“This is bullshit!” she snapped at me, daring me to call her out for cursing. “Dad is marrying that dumb woman from his office, and now you're marrying Blythe? What about us?”

Tears had sparked into her eyes, and I closed my own for a moment, hurting everywhere. She was justified in her anger, I understood that. I had to make her see that I wasn't choosing Blythe over them, that I would never do that. But the ground here was incredibly shaky, totally unknown territory for me.

“Dad is a cheater,” she said then, some of the steam leaving her tone, replaced by a sadness that hit me 10 times harder than the anger.

I opened my eyes and regarded my middle girl, who was swiping at her nose with a knuckle, roughly, the way a boy would. I said, delicately, “Tish, honey, I know this is hard to hear—” She began to interrupt me, but I held up a hand, warning her with my eyes. I drew a breath and went on, catching Ruthann in my gaze too. “But you're both old enough to understand that sometimes people fall out of love. Dad fell out of love with me, and it hurt me really badly. You guys saw that. But don't you think it would be worse to stay married to someone who doesn't love you anymore? Wouldn't that be living a lie?” I was pleasantly surprised at the sincerity of my speech; I wasn't saying these things to pacify my kids, but truly meant them.

They thought about that for a moment, though Tish studied the tabletop and Ruthie directed her gaze out the window at the lakeshore. I prodded, “Right?”

Ruthie nodded, looking back at me. She smiled her sweet smile.

“Mama, we just want you to be happy,” she added, and my heart melted.

“Yeah,” Tish grumbled, unconvincingly. But then she tipped her head at me and managed a little half-smile. “We do, Mom, honestly.”

“Thanks, you two,” I told them. And then, because I had to know, “What did Dad say after I left?” I mentally cringed, remembering what had taken place on the front porch last night, Blythe and Jackson fist-fighting because Jackson had behaved like a jealous kid whose favorite toy had been played with by someone else. I knew it wasn't that simple, but it was easy to blame him, though he'd come out on the losing end of this one. Jackson, whose hot temper had landed him in numerous such situations in high school, had never lost a fight. And now, this morning, he was surely worse for the wear, and missing a tooth. My thoughts again flashed to Bly, as they had a thousand times already today, wondering if he was hurt from the fight. It was hard to imagine, since Jackson had barely landed a single punch, but still. The thought of him hurting in any way just aggravated my desire to get going.

“He talked to Camille mostly,” Ruthie informed, playing with the sugar boat, absently stacking and restacking the little pink and blue bags of sweetener. “He told her he's not mad, and told us we could come to live with him if we wanted, and—”

My heart nearly came out of my chest. Ruthie saw the horror in my eyes because she cut herself off and assured, quickly, “But we wouldn't do that, Mom, you know.”

I swallowed and said what I had to, though my throat was dust-dry. “You know if you girls want that, I wouldn't…I wouldn't stop you. I know you love your dad, and miss him.” The speech cost a lot of my bravado and I drank a long sip from my coffee, which was now lukewarm and unpalatable, to hide my face for a moment.
Please, please never let them want to do that, oh please, please
.

Tish said, “Mom, we love it here. We want to live with you.”

“I like Chicago, but I can't imagine not living with you, either, Mama,” Ruthie said, and I felt a fraction of the tension leave my shoulders.

“Okay,” I allowed. “And you're willing to give Blythe a chance?”

They both nodded.

“We wouldn't have to call him ‘dad' would we?” Tish asked, and I rolled my eyes at her.

“No, honey, just ‘Bly,' like you have been all summer,” I said.
If he comes home with me, if I can make him see.

“Dad did say he's coming back today. He wants to talk to you, too,” Ruthann added, a worried look in her eyes.

“I know, sweetie, it'll be all right,” I reassured her. “And I'm sorry about everything last night. I hate that Dad and Blythe got into a fight. Blythe was just worried about me, but Dad would never hurt me that way, you know that.”

“It was pretty scary,” Ruthie admitted. “Blythe looked so angry, I was worried for Daddy.”

Jackson would writhe in shame at that statement, though Ruthann only meant it with compassion. I said, “I know, honey, he was just really mad. And he felt bad for hitting your dad.” Maybe not immediately, but there was no need to be that specific.

Clint was suddenly bounding over to us, squeezing against Tish to displace her on the booth. He was holding a plate loaded with pancakes and syrup.

“Quit shoving me!” Tish bitched at him, but moved gamely enough. She grabbed a napkin-wrapped trio of silverware from the tabletop and shook it open, snatching the fork and then helping herself to his plate. Clint playfully stabbed at her hand with his own fork, and Ruthann, now pressed against the wall, took the easy way out and ducked under the table, popping out on my side.

For a moment I snuggled her close, and then she observed, gently, “Mom, you kinda smell like you need a shower.”

“Point taken,” I said, smiling against her hair.

Three hours
later I had showered, dressed in clean clothes, packed a bag with enough supplies for a week and a half—the longest I could figure being absent from my children—and withstood the blame Mom attempted to heap over me. She'd followed me right up the steps into my bedroom, despite the fact that lunch would begin in the café in a less than an hour and that she'd been on my case without relenting almost since I'd ended my conversation with the girls.

“Jo,” she continued, sitting on my unmade bed and regarding me with somber eyes. I did my best to politely appear to be listening to her, all the while rooting through my drawers and tossing things into my travel bag. “I truly don't understand this. Why can't you call him? Wait a while, see how you feel in a few weeks. A month. Maybe this was just a rebound kind of thing.”

My hackles rose at that, but I knew she was only trying to be reasonable.

“Seriously, I know he's a nice boy,” she went on. “But chasing after him this way, Jo…”

I rounded on her finally, my cheeks hot. I stood still and faced her squarely, pressing my hands against my thighs to still the trembling. With extreme effort I knocked the edge in my voice down a peg or two and spoke quietly, but with emphasis. “Mom, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but he's no boy. He's a man, an amazing man, and I love him.
I love him
. I am going to find him and tell him so, because I owe him that. I owe myself that.” My voice was shaking, but I meant every word to the core of my soul. “If he sends me away then I'll let him go, but I have to find out.”

Mom's lips softened a little, though her eyebrows knitted in concern. She reached one hand out towards me, fingers splayed, but then let it drop back to her lap when I remained stubbornly unmoving. She said, “Joelle, this isn't like you.”

“Then you know what, Mom, maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do,” I said, my tone flat, and resumed my packing with venom.

“Maybe so,” she allowed. “But I know you better than you think. I know you're moving on from Jackson, but I hope you've considered the odds in this relationship too. It's going to be so hard, honey, think of that.”

“Well I'll never know if I don't try,” I said, my back to her and a catch in my throat.

“All right,” she finally said, rising and abruptly clutching me in a hug. I stood motionless in her embrace, angry, but at the last moment turned and hugged her back, breathing in her familiar scent. She rubbed my back vigorously, reminiscent of Gran, and then released me. “Call us every night, all right?”

“I will,” I assured her, and managed a small smile.

Camille was helping out with the lunch
rush as I entered the café later, craving the familiarity of routine to get me through until tomorrow morning. I was planning to leave with the sunrise; Mom had promised to help me plan this evening, including making a call to Christy Tilson, Blythe's mother and Rich's stepdaughter. I planned to go to her first thing, for better or worse. I had my cell phone in my apron pocket, some part of me hoping that somehow, despite everything, Blythe would call me. I craved the sound of his voice so much that I could hardly bear it; I reached with my right hand yet again and slipped the phone out, caressing it as I had all of the nights for the past two months when he'd call me in the early hours of the morning as I curled in bed. I would be warm, with his scent all over my skin, my arms and legs aching from being wrapped around him the entire night before, and he'd call to tell me good-night. I breathed hard through my nose, hearing his deep voice in my memory, remembering the sweetness of those moments as my gaze skimmed over to the kitchen, where Blythe had worked this past summer.